


seventeen and coming clean for the first time

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, listen fp's dad is a real asshole so... be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: It’s not until FP catches his breath that he realizes how silent the room has become. There’s a tension he hadn’t picked up on, but now that he has it’s so thick he’s practically choking on it. Reality slowly starts to crash in on him as his eyes roam up his father’s body to meet his own.They’re both at a standstill. Senior seems to be in a state of shock, like he’s trying to process what the hell just happened. FP’s just trying to figure out what play to make as the weight of what he’s just revealed finally dawns on him.It’s almost a game of chicken. And then…





	seventeen and coming clean for the first time

**Author's Note:**

> I just feel like FP deserved his own Mickey Milkovich moment, okay? And who else was gonna give it to him? So if you get the reference, you know what you're in for. If you don't... please make sure to read the tags. (although personally i don't think i got too dark with this but i also dont know yalls limits so... proceed with caution)
> 
> Title of fic is from Coming Clean by Green Day

He had only attended one funeral before. His mother’s. And if he was being honest, this didn’t feel too different. Grander, maybe. Definitely more people. But he figures all funerals must feel the same at their core, carrying that melancholy gloom. Or maybe this funeral in particular hit a little closer to home. Because the man in the casket might as well have been another parent to him. Because this specific loss meant he now shared a morbid commonality with his best friend that they were both far too young for:

Two dead parents between them.

It was a shock to his system when Fred had called him crying, _sobbing_ , really, and relayed to him to the news of coming home to his father’s lifeless body. FP had rushed over and hadn’t left Fred’s side since. It hadn’t even been a week, but it felt like a lifetime.

He’s still standing by Fred’s side now, his hand placed protectively over the other boy’s like a safety net. He’s been doing that a lot lately, touching Fred whenever he can just to let him know he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. Sometimes he wonders if Fred even notices. He’s been so in his own head lately and FP can’t really blame him for not wanting to deal with reality. But then there’ll be moments where Fred seeks _him_ out - like when FP can finally manage to get Fred to sit down and eat and Fred will gently tap his foot against FP’s or stretch his leg out just far enough for their knees to touch. Or while he’s sleeping he’ll curl into FP a little more, seeking out his warmth - and FP realizes he’s right where he needs to be.

He wasn’t used to being someone’s rock. That had always been Fred’s role in their relationship starting from when they were just kids on the playground. FP was always the one out on a ledge, but now when he looked at Fred he saw all too clearly the same pain he got a glimpse of every time he looked in the mirror. But that was FP’s normal, had been for years. It was never supposed to be Fred’s.

It surprised him how easily he fell into this new role. It wasn’t like he had a lot of great influences to pull from. Maybe it was something his mom left him, some innate knowledge he inherited from her about how to be someone’s light. Maybe it had been some of Fred’s warmth rubbing off on him after all the time they spent together. Maybe it was a combination of the two. He also knew he never really had a choice in the matter. Fred needed him. It was as simple as that. FP couldn’t turn his back even if he wanted to.

So he stayed glued to him. Especially today. He knew today would be the hardest. If he was being honest, he was kind of impressed with how well Fred was keeping it together in front of everyone, but he also expected nothing less. Fred was never really the type to let others on to the fact that he needed taking care of. He was much more the suffer in silence type. Another thing they had in common. But every once in a while Fred’s fingers would twitch in his and FP knew Fred was fighting to keep that dam closed, so he’d squeeze Fred’s hand and let him know he was still there.

The service is almost over now. FP’s taking one last look around at all the mourning faces, wondering if even half this many people will show up for him when his number’s called. He swears he catches some unsavory glances from a few of the attendees noticing the fact he’s been securely holding onto Fred’s hand for the past hour. Normally they wouldn’t risk such a public display of affection (and FP thinks it’s beyond ridiculous they can’t even be awarded this luxury), but he figured today of all days they could get a pass. It’s just… a friend comforting a friend. Maybe he’s just being paranoid. 

And then he hears it. There’s faint grumble of a motorcycle somewhere off in the distance, getting louder the closer it comes. FP’s stomach sinks.

_No, no, NO. Not today._

Leave it to his dad to cause a scene. At a _fucking funeral._ At least he waited until the end, though FP suspects there wasn’t that much forethought put into this stunt, and it was more just sheer dumb luck the timing wasn’t worse.

People’s heads were starting to turn, and FP feels his face heat up. The roar of the engine was deafening, juxtaposing the silent, somber mood that had blanketed the afternoon. He’s got to do something. It’s bad enough his old man even had the balls to show up in the first place, but maybe FP can stop even more of a scene from being made. 

He’s already embarrassed. _Humiliated_ is more like it, and it’s only going to get worse once he actually steps forward to acknowledge this is his specific problem. It’s either put the target on his own back or have his father come storming up and do it for him.

He takes a deep breath and readies himself to move, but he feels a tug on his hand.

“F…” Fred whispers beside him, eyes round and bloodshot from all the crying and sleepless nights of recent days. He’s the only other person here who knows what an arrival from Forsythe Senior means for FP, and he’s doing nothing to hide the worry on his face. 

It pisses FP off. The last thing Fred needs right now is to be worrying about his troubled best friend, and here comes dear old dad to ruin any chance of that.

FP leans into him like he’s going for a hug, whispers in his ear “I’ll be fine” and thinks about placing a kiss to Fred’s cheek but knows there’s too many people around for that, the worst of which being his own father.

Fred still looks unsure, but there’s not much FP can do about that now. He pulls away and tries to be discreet as possible as he slips away from the gathering and makes his way across the cemetery to meet up with his father. He sucks in another breath, watches as his dad leans against his bike and pulls out a cigarette from a pack and light it. Like this is all so fucking casual.

“What do you want?” FP keeps his tone steady, even, low enough so no one else can hear.

Forsythe Senior takes a drag of his cigarette, slow and deliberate just to drag out the interaction longer than necessary, before blowing out smoke to the side. “I need a reason to check in on my son?”

“During a funeral? Yes.” His dad fucking _chuckles_ and FP has to grind his teeth just to keep from losing it. 

“You haven’t been home in days. That reason enough for you?”

“Oh, so now you want to act like a parent? You never give a shit where I am.”

Senior takes one last drag of his cigarette before stomping it out under his boot. He pushes off his bike and steps into his son’s space, crowding him. “Maybe I wanted to pay my respects.” He pauses, takes a look over FP’s shoulder. “Mrs. Andrews is looking pretty lonely, maybe I should-”

“Don’t.” FP’s hand was up and shoving at his father’s chest before he even knew what was happening. He should’ve been terrified. He _was_ terrified, but he couldn’t show weakness. He had to commit, so he fixes his dad with a stare.

Senior glances down at his son’s hand still on his chest and slowly looks up to meet his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, kid. Getting all big and mighty just ‘cause there’s an audience.” He shoves FP’s hand away and takes another step closer, dropping his voice low. FP gulps but stands his ground. “You’re awfully protective of that family. Spending all your time with them. With that _boy of theirs._ ”

Senior’s never been fond of the Andrews, Fred in particular. Long before Fred and FP had started dating, if what they were doing constituted as dating, Senior had gotten it into his head that Fred Andrews wasn’t _right._ He wasn’t the type of boy his son should be seen with, lest people got to talking, or worse. He’d made it clear more than enough times that nothing good would come to FP if he found out he was “one of them queers”. But FP was stubborn and stupid, and so was Fred, so no matter how many times FP tried convincing him this was a bad idea they always wound up back together. So they settled on a compromise. They would keep seeing each other in secret, remaining strictly platonic in public, and FP would parade himself in front of his father with a new girl every week, acting like some hotshot stud just to get Senior off his case. It wasn’t like FP didn’t like girls, because he did. He just liked Fred more.

“Stop.” FP’s voice starts to shake as he recalls every hateful word his father has thrown at him over the years, but he won’t break eye contact. He can’t.

“People are starting to talk, and you know how I feel about talk. I will not. Let you. Embarrass me.” Each pause is punctuated with a particularly hard jab to FP’s chest. FP can’t help but stumble back a little, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to spill more because of the unspoken allegations than any current physical threat. 

It was the dirty little secret of the Jones family. Forsythe, of course, never had any proof of his son’s same sex attractions, and FP obviously kept it as well hidden as he could, so it just became this thing they tiptoed around. Senior always made it abundantly clear where he stood on the matter, but with no hard evidence there wasn’t much he could do, not that is stopped him from running his mouth. But he knew he had FP under his thumb, constantly fucking afraid, and that was enough.

“FP?” Fred. His saving grace. Or his achilles heel. Probably both. Definitely both. FP turns around to get a look at him just as his father lifts his head to do the same. Fred takes a few steps forward, and FP can’t help but think Fred’s braver than he’ll would ever be. “A few of us are headed to Pop’s. You coming?”

“Yeah. Just… give me a minute?” 

Fred nods slowly, looking over at Senior like he’s trying to communicate he knows exactly what’s going on and he dares him to lay another finger on FP before backing away. 

The two Jones men turn their attentions back to each other. 

“I want you home. Tonight.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He’ll figure out an escape plan later. Right now FP just wants out of this conversation.

“I’d change that attitude of yours in the meantime,” Senior advises as he puts his helmet on and gets back on his bike, revving up the engine. “Be a real shame if our _conversation_ later got unpleasant.”

And then he’s gone, leaving FP alone on the grass to watch his figure get smaller and smaller the further he drives away and reeling over the implications of the words he’s left with. FP never looked forward to interactions with his father, but there was something crawling under his skin now warning him that this could be particularly troublesome. When you grew up with a man like Forsythe Jones you learned pretty quick not to ignore the warning bells that were prone to firing off in your head.

FP is pulled out of his thoughts when he feels the comforting weight of a hand on his shoulder accompanied by a soft “F?”

It’s the first time since his dad showed up that FP felt like he could breathe again, turning to meet the familiar chestnut eyes he could all too easily allow himself to get lost in.

“You okay?” Fred grips FP’s shoulder a little tighter, kneading the muscles just the way he knows calms FP down. And wasn’t that such a Fred move? Calming someone else down at his dad’s funeral.

FP sighs and gives a small smile. “Better now.” He wraps his arm around Fred’s shoulder and begins steering them off in the direction of Pop’s. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

\--

“Maybe I should come with you tonight. As backup.”

It’s just the two of them at Pop’s now, leaning against each other on the same side of the booth now that everyone’s left. FP snorts and looks down at their hands hidden safely under the table. They’ve been taking turns gently tracing patterns on each other’s palms. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t.”

Fred’s looking down at their hands, too. He nods. “I know. You’re right. I just… I don’t like you being down there alone with him.”

“I’ve been living alone with the man for half my life. It’s no more dangerous now than it has been.”

“Bullshit.” FP looks up at him. “You know it’s different now. After…” Fred lets his thought trail off and FP’s blatantly aware of the way Fred’s eyes drift to the cast on his arm.

Fred had found out a while ago about the bruises and cigarette burns Senior liked to leave on his son, but FP had always played it off like they were tiny inconsequential injuries. Fred always protested, but with FP swearing him to secrecy and acting like it was all so fucking normal there really wasn’t a whole lot he could do. And then FP came over one day with the cast on his arm and suddenly things had crossed over into being a hell of a lot more risky than either one of them ever wanted to admit.

FP shifts uncomfortably under Fred’s gaze. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help, but some things are bigger than us, Freddie. I’ll be fine.” He flips his hand over so he can lace their fingers together.

Fred squeezes his hand. “Just promise me you’ll get out of there before anything bad happens.”

FP squeezes back, eyes once again focused on their hands so that he doesn’t have to meet Fred’s. “Promise.”

\--

He braces himself outside the trailer door. He can hear his dad stumbling around inside, glass bottles rattling. He thinks back to the promise he made to Fred about leaving before things got bad, thinks about how he’s already breaking it as he opens the door and steps inside.

He’s greeted with the exact image he’d been expecting: his father standing in the kitchen in the middle of downing what’s either his fourth or fifth beer. FP sighs and leans against the wall opposite his dad, folding his arms over his chest in the process. “And here I was thinking we’d have some quality father-son bonding time for a change.”

Senior finishes off his bottle and tosses it in the sink. “Hard to have bonding time when you’re never around, _Junior._ ” His tone is pointed and mocking and there’s an edge to it that’s specific to when he’s been drinking.

“Don’t call me that.” FP wraps his arms tighter around himself, shifts his weight to his other foot. 

His father stalks towards him.

“My name not good enough for you, _FP?_ You think you’re hiding anything by going by a couple initials?” He scoffs. “My blood’s still in you no matter how much you try to run from it, no matter how much you try to dress yourself up” he flicks the collar of the sport coat FP’s wearing, the one he had to borrow from Fred, “and parade around like you’re better than the rest of us.”

FP clenches his jaw and gives Senior a sideways glance before pushing past him. “I’m not doing this.” 

He should’ve known better. He _did_ know better. Nothing his father had to say was ever good or constructive on his best days. Adding alcohol into the mix only meant he’d be itching for a fight. Sometimes FP liked to give in, go a little tit for tat because as much as he hated to acknowledge any similarities between himself and the man who spawned him, he’d be remiss to ignore that temper that was always bubbling just under the surface, his own need to get loud and angry just to prove a point and feel like he had some sort of power in any of this. Of course, he never did, and it never took too long for him to be reminded of it. He’d been walking around for weeks with proof of it on his arm.

So he was done arguing. He makes it into his room and pulls down his RHS athletics duffle and starts shoving in whatever clothes he can fit, for once thankful for having such scarce belongings.

It’s not long before Senior’s barreling down the short hallway, stopping in the doorframe to take in the scene. “And where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Away from here.” FP doesn’t even look up, just keeps stuffing his bag until nothing else can fit.

“I know what you’re doing.” Senior’s words are more slurred than before and he can barely walk in a straight line at this point, but it doesn’t stop him from slinking forward. “You figure now that old man Andrews finally kicked the bucket you can snake your way into that family.”

FP finally stops his packing and whips his head around to face his father. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just find it a little funny how Arthur’s body didn’t even have time to get cold before you practically moved yourself on in to that family’s home.”

“It’s called me helping out a family that’s done more for me than my own father ever has,” FP spits. “If you were loyal to anything more than a six-pack maybe you’d understand.” He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder then before making a move to sidestep his father and get the hell out of dodge, but Senior has other plans. The younger boy barely makes it a step before his upper arm is locked in a death grip and he can’t help but wince from the force of it.

“You think I don’t know what’s been going on?” Senior’s voice has dropped dangerously low as he towers over his son. FP’s eyes go wide as he stares up at the only person capable of making his blood run cold like it is now. 

It’s the other shoe dropping. FP doesn’t know how, but he knows his dad must _know_. He must’ve found out somehow, about Fred, about what it is they get up to behind closed doors. 

Time stands still as a persistent ringing in his ears begins. He can see his father’s lips moving, but he can’t hear a damn thing. The walls are closing in. Everything’s getting too tight, too constricting. He can feel his throat closing up. And then-

“This ends _now._ Artie may not have had sense enough to keep that queer little fuck up son of his on leash, but I am done ignoring whatever pull that boy has on you!”

The two of them freeze for a moment, Senior letting his words sink and FP’s just trying to process it it all. He knows he should be terrified, or angry, or both, but all he can do… laugh. 

Fred had rumors surrounding him for years. He was always a little more… free… than anyone in this town could wrap their brains around. He wasn’t exactly parading around the streets of Riverdale with a pride flag strapped to his back, but he was also always just a smidge “too different”, some would even say “off”, for the average straight-laced conservative residents to feel comfortable with.

Fred was lucky enough to come from a good respectable family and had a way of charming the pants off of just about everybody that ended up saving him in the long run, at least on his side of town. But it didn’t stop the whispers.

What FP finds comical, however, is the fact that his father apparently believes goody-two-shoes, Americana, apple pie, boy next door _Freddie Andrews_ is some evil gay genius hellbent on corrupting his son.

As if FP didn’t want it.

As if FP wasn’t _begging_ for it.

As if that wasn’t the funniest goddamn thing FP’d ever heard. Senior didn’t seem as amused.

“What the hell are you laughing at, boy?” His grip on his son’s arm tightens as he jostles him forward. 

FP has to take a minute to settle himself, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes as he looks up at the man who somehow feels so much less menacing now even if he is at the precipice of snapping FP’s bicep in two. It just doesn’t seem to matter anymore. “You think…” FP stops to laugh again. “You think Fred’s the one you have to worry about? I’m fucking gay, _dad._ If it wasn’t Fred it would’ve been someone else! You’re so concerned about Artie’s parenting skills meanwhile you raised a big ol’ ‘mo! All by yourself! Congratulations!” 

He’s doubled over in a fit of laughter again. Or, as much as he can be while still locked in his father’s grip. It must be a psychotic break. Some delusion setting in. On some level FP knows he wouldn’t be saying any of this otherwise, and yet he doesn’t want to take it back. Years of having to sneak around and hide who he is just to appease other people and avoid getting his ass kicked had finally caught up to him. He just… doesn’t care. 

It’s not until FP catches his breath that he realizes how silent the room has become. There’s a tension he hadn’t picked up on, but now that he has it’s so thick he’s practically choking on it. Reality slowly starts to crash in on him as his eyes roam up his father’s body to meet his own.

They’re both at a standstill. Senior seems to be in a state of shock, like he’s trying to process what the hell just happened. FP’s just trying to figure out what play to make as the weight of what he’s just revealed finally dawns on him. 

It’s almost a game of chicken. And then…

“You little faggot-”

And before FP’s truly cognisant of what’s happening, his eyes grow wide and the only word he can form is _shit_ before he swings his arm back just to bring it forward and land a solid punch to his father’s jaw.

FP knows he can pack a punch, but he also knows his father can take one, and he isn’t about to stick around to find out if he had done a good job or not. He just needs a head start, and this seemed like a good enough distraction.

Suddenly everything’s happening in a blur. He grabs his duffle and hauls ass out of his room, sprinting down the hall to get to the front door. He can hear Senior behind him quickly closing the gap, cursing at him along the way. FP’s almost at the front door. Just a couple more steps…

He’s gotten the door open by the time Senior reaches him, and that’s where his luck runs out. His father’s on him, killing any last chance for a clean getaway. He feels his shirt getting yanked and then he’s being shoved forward. FP tries not to lose his footing, but in the rush of all that’s going on he trips over his own feet and is sent flying down the short front steps of the trailer. It’s enough to knock the window out of him and he immediately knows this delay is only an advantage for his father. 

FP tries to get up, but he feels a heavy boot on his back kicking him down. He groans out in pain, and next thing he knows he’s on his back, his father now on top of him just wailing away like it’s nothing. 

Senior’s hurling every insult in the book at him. _Faggot, queer, homo, fairy._ It’s never-ending. 

It sparks a newfound rage in FP that manifests itself in these guttural screams that seem to come from some long since buried dark corner of his being, years of pent up aggression he’s never even dared to conjure up before. It’s cathartic. His own fists are flying now and he’s sure he’s landed in a few solid hits. He even manages to knee Senior’s grown and that seems to really do something. He doesn’t have a lot of time to reflect on it, though, before suddenly the weight of his father is being lifted off him and he can feel someone’s arms under his, pulling him up, too. 

It takes two of their neighbors to hold back Senior, who’s practically foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog. 

FP becomes vaguely aware it’s Alice standing behind him holding him back. Shit must’ve looked real bad for her to get involved, FP thinks. 

“I want you out of my fucking sight!” Senior’s yelling, trying his damndest to break free from the two burly men on either side of him. “You’re fucking dead to me, you hear me?”

“Right back at ya, Pops!” FP yells back, spitting blood out at his father’s feet. He can hear Alice behind him trying to get him to stop, but he’s not done yet. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep our little secret. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you by letting all of the South Side know that _FORSYTHE JONES’ ONE AND ONLY SON FUCKING LOVES COCK!_ ”

“You son of a bitch!” Senior tries to charge forward, but he’s still got two guys holding him back. Regardless of whatever personal opinions they have they know enough not to let shit escalate to the point of cops needing to be called. South Siders preferred to handle shit on their own. 

“FP, stop!” FP hears Alice’s voice warn from behind. He knows he should probably listen, but listening to Alice was never really his thing. 

“And I take it like a fucking champ, too, _dad_! I’ve been off doing exactly what you’ve been so afraid of me doing, and I’ve loved every fucking second of it! And I love _him_ , and he loves me, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!”

“You two are gonna burn in hell together!”

“Says the man who’s gonna burn alone!”

Senior’s still struggling to break free and it’s beginning to look like he might actually do it, so Alice swings around to FP’s front and holds on to his shoulders, making sure she keeps his attention. “FP, listen to me, take my bike and fucking _go!_ ”

FP’s seething, but he takes one glimpse over Alice’s shoulder and knows his time is running out. For the first time in his life he actually takes Alice’s advice, nods his head at her in agreement and grabs his duffle before running off to her trailer to get on her motorcycle - for once someone’s gang affiliation finally coming to good use in this part of town.

He’s off and riding away, the roar of the bike just barely drowning out his father’s distant shouts of “You ever come back here I’ll fucking kill you!”

FP flips him off without even looking back.

\--

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. Not even a high school graduate and he’s already out on his own, alone in the big bad world. He scoffs at that. Can’t be any worse than where he started. 

In retrospect, he thinks maybe he should’ve been more careful, not so hot-headed, but he can’t deny the overwhelming sense of freedom he feels now. He’ll deal with the consequences later, but for now he finally gets to breathe.

It’s dark out when FP pulls into the Andrews’ driveway and parks Alice’s bike, but he can see presumably Fred’s silhouette sat on the front steps, backlit by the porchlight. 

Of course he had waited up for him.

Now that all the adrenaline from earlier is gone FP can feel the aching in his body. He pulls a pack of cigarettes, along with his lighter, from his jacket - he winces a little, realizes he must’ve taken a few hits to his ribs - and taps one out, placing it between his lips and lighting up as he makes his way forward.

“Is that Allie’s bike?” Fred calls from the porch. “What’d you do? Steal it?” 

FP takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke up into the night sky. “Not exactly.”

He makes it far enough that he’s now in the glow of the porchlight, and he suddenly remembers what his face must look like when he sees Fred tense up. _Should’ve probably warned him,_ he thinks to himself.

“Shit, FP! What-” He goes to stand up but FP waves him off. 

“It looks worse than it is,” FP supplies as he goes to take a seat on the top step behind Fred, careful to keep his cigarette from burning him as he wraps his arms around his best friend. 

Fred leans back between FP’s legs, reaches up to hold onto his arms where they’re pressed against his chest, and feels FP rest his head on his shoulder. He lets a moment of silence pass between them before he whispers “You’re scaring me, F.”

FP lifts his head and sighs, and Fred can feel the ghost of his breath tickling his neck before he feels a kiss. “My dad threw me out. I- I told him I’m gay,” FP mumbles against Fred’s skin.

“Holy shit…” Fred’s wide eyed as he shifts as best as he can with FP’s arms still tight around him. He positions himself just so that he can tilt his head back and see FP’s face, the bruising and split lip suddenly taking on a much darker meaning. He wants to reach up and touch him, but FP lifts his hand so he can take another drag of his smoke. 

“And I may have told the entire trailer park.”

“Are you crazy?”

FP shrugs and flicks some ash onto the ground. “Life’s too short. And my dad kept running his mouth about...” He trails off, getting this distant look in his eyes before shaking his head and focusing back on the boy below him. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Fuck.” Fred can’t really think of much else to say. He knows how huge this is for FP, for anybody. This is a far cry from how he thought today would end when he woke up this morning. It’s a lot to unpack. 

“I’m sorry,” FP says suddenly, and Fred scrunches his brows together as he looks up at him. 

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I don’t know. You had enough shit to deal with today without all this.” FP waves his hand in front of his face. “I’m like a fucking plague.”

Fred reaches up to cup FP’s cheek then, careful not to press down too hard on the tender skin. “Hey, you are not a plague. And you do not have to apologize for whatever your father does.”

FP nods his head. He can feel tears swelling up in his eyes and does his best to fight them back, but the look on Fred’s face is so sincere and tender it’s making it hard. 

The moment’s getting too heavy. Fred takes the cigarette from between FP’s fingers, finishes it off, and tries to lighten the mood. “I think we’re gonna need something stronger.”

FP raises his eyebrows. “You been hiding out on me, Andrews?” he teases.

Fred rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alice slipped me some weed at the funeral. Said I was gonna need it.”

“How thoughtful.”

Fred shoulders FP playfully before turning around and resting back against his chest again. His smile grows when he hears FP’s breathy laugh.

They relax for a moment while Fred takes FP’s uninjured hand and laces their fingers together. “So what does this all mean for us? You gonna kiss me in public now?” His tone is light when he says it, but he can’t fight the flutter in his chest at the thought. Other factors came into play, of course, but fear of FP’s dad finding out about the two of them accounted for a bulk of the reason why they always had to be so secretive. With that out of the way, it suddenly seems like they have a whole new world of opportunities in front of them. He knew it wouldn’t be a complete walk in the park, but after losing his own father and the hell he had been going through the past week it felt like he could finally see a silver lining.

FP looks down at their hands, watches as his thumb circles softly over Fred’s skin, thinks about how not even 24 hours ago being this close to Fred out on his front porch wouldn’t have even been an option. “Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know,” Fred responds honestly. If they lived in a perfect world he’d say yes in a heartbeat. For so long he’s dreamed about kissing FP in the halls at school, or at the Bijou in a theater that wasn’t holding just the two of them during a matinee showing in the middle of the week. He wanted them to be one of those sickly sweet couples you saw around town who seemed to have no regard for anyone else having to bare witness to them shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. They could hardly keep their hands off each other when they were alone. 

But Fred wasn’t as naive as he looked. He knew the world wasn’t ready to see two boys being so openly affectionate. _Riverdale_ wasn’t ready.. As much as Fred loved his town, even he couldn’t pretend it was without faults. Baby steps were probably their best course of action here. “Maybe we can just start with holding hands?”

FP presses his lips to Fred’s temple and smiles, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “Yeah. Okay, I can do that.”

They sit like that for a while. Fred seems more relaxed than he has been in days and FP finds comfort in that. He’d do anything to take away all the hurt Fred’s been feeling, so even if he can only give him small moments of reprieve it feels like a win.

“So, I guess you need a place to live now, huh?” Fred speaks up suddenly. 

FP can’t help but laugh at his complete lack of subtlety. “Yeah, I guess I do. Got any places in mind?”

“I can maybe think of one.” Keeping their hands interlocked, Fred stands up and pulls FP along with him. He grabs FP’s bag and leads him to the front door, pausing when he feels FP stop behind him. 

“What about your mom?” 

FP looks scared when Fred turns around. Or maybe not scared but… definitely apprehensive. Fred just shrugs. “You’ve practically been living with us anyway. And you know she loves you. Can’t imagine she’d say no.”

“And what about…” FP gestures between the two of them.

Truthfully, Fred had never really been worried about his mom finding out about the two of them, or just finding out he liked boys. It was always Artie he’d been more concerned about and now…

He didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t ready to think about it. It had been a long day of thinking and now all he wanted was to go to bed with FP wrapped safely around him. “Maybe we should give her a few days. Just to be safe.” It wasn’t that Fred was worried about any rejection, necessarily. There was something in him saying things would turn out fine. It was the timing. Everyone just needed a few days to calm down before anymore bombshells were dropped.

Fortunately, FP seems to agree, nodding his head in response. 

Fred rests back against the door and pulls FP forward til their chests are touching and places a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you, you know that?”

“You better,” FP teases before leaning in for a kiss himself. “I love you, too.”

For a brief moment FP gets a flash of some older version of themselves standing out on a porch just like this, except it’s _their porch_ , in front of _their home_ , and they’re freer and happier and more comfortable than they’ve ever been. He knows then what he fought for, what he’ll always fight for for as long as he lives. To have a million simple moments just like this with the boy he loves. 

Fred’s voice snaps him out of his daydream then. “You coming?” He’s standing on the other side of the doorway now, waiting for FP to follow him inside. 

FP takes a second more to drink him in. “Yes, dear.” He gets Fred to smile again and as FP takes that first step over the threshold he realizes what it finally feels like to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated! :)


End file.
